Chapter 5 #2
He spoke with his wife and she agreed to teach Lydia to arrange flowers.
The first few vases Lydia made up were so hideous Mrs. Bennet refused to display them in the house, so they adorned various tables and windowsills in Mr. Bennet’s bookroom.
He found an odd pleasure in seeing the ugly little creations splashed about his sanctuary.
Lydia had made a purple arrangement just for him, as she knew it was a color he favored, and though the results were not visually pleasing, his heart was warmed by the notion that his daughter was aware of his favorite color and gratified that she wished to please him by making something just for him.
He placed the vase proudly on his desk and smiled each time he saw it until the flowers wilted away.
Eventually, Lydia’s efforts improved and her creations went from abysmal to middling, and finally to attractive and occasionally pretty.
Her mind was sharpening as well. She was not as quick as Lizzy nor as ponderous as Mary, but she was smart enough, occasionally insightful, and always entertaining.
One August morning at breakfast, a few months after he had begun to focus his attention on his youngest daughter, Mr. Bennet looked at Lydia and said, “Your birthday will soon be upon us. Have you a wish for anything in particular?”
Lydia dropped the scone she had been buttering. She was surprised he remembered her birthday—he had forgotten it more than once in the past—and looked at her father with wide eyes.
“Well? Does anything spring to mind?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes.
There was something she wanted, but she did not think he would do it. She looked at him with hope in her eyes and he smiled at her, giving her the courage to ask. “I would like to go to London, sir, with you,” she added the last in a whisper and looked at her lap.
Mr. Bennet sat back at her request, surprised and a little flattered. “What do you wish to do in London?”
“I want to go the theater!” she cried, excitement seeping through her discomfort.
Mr. Bennet laughed at her enthusiasm.
“Would you consider it?” she asked hopefully.
He smiled at her warmly. “I shall do one better. I shall plan it.”
Lydia squealed with happiness.
“To the theater we shall go, though I don’t know what they will have appropriate for a girl your age. Perhaps you would enjoy Astley’s more?”
“I do not care where we go, so long as it is in London.”
A fortnight later, in early September, Mr. Bennet and Lydia were in the Gardiners’ house, preparing for a night at the theater.
Mrs. Gardiner was helping Lydia prepare for the evening.
Lydia had borrowed one of Elizabeth’s gowns, as they had the most similar height and coloring, and she was practically vibrating with excitement.
“Step in, dear,” Mrs. Gardiner held the dress out and Lydia gathered her petticoats to step gingerly into the gown. Mrs. Gardiner pulled it up over her hips, then stopped. “I did not know the rest of your soul mark had come in. It is lovely.”
“What?” Lydia lifted her arm and tried to look, but her mark was in such a location that she could only really see it in a mirror.
“The flowers. They are lovely.”
Lydia turned to face the mirror and looked at her side. She could not see beneath her stays, but where they ended, her thin chemise did little to conceal the bright red flower on her lower rib cage. She gasped.
“Aunt, help me remove this.” Soon she was standing in her chemise, looking at herself in the mirror, her mouth hanging open.
“Whatever is the matter, dear? Do you not like it?”
“I do not understand.”
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece in confusion.
“My mark was a plain green ivy, Aunt. For nearly two years now. I looked at it in May and there were no flowers.”
Mrs. Gardiner did not ask why her niece had not looked at her mark in four months. It was clearly not the time, but she did wonder.
“So you have never seen these before?” she asked.
Lydia shook her head, staring at her mark in amazement. Suddenly, her posture stiffened. “Aunt, would you look closely and tell me if you see a name? Perhaps hidden in one of the petals or along the vine?”
“Of course.”
It was a trifle awkward standing there with her chemise pulled up and an open dressing gown, but Lydia was past the point of caring for her modesty. She was wild to know if there was a name.
“I do not see a name exactly, but it does look as if letters are trying to form just here.” She traced her finger along one of the leaves on the vine. “This may be an F, or perhaps a T.”
Lydia gasped, so surprised and happy was she. “Oh aunt! It is a miracle!”
“What has caused the change, do you think?”
“I have no idea,” breathed Lydia. She turned to the side to look at her mark in the mirror.
What had been a plain green ivy was now surrounded by bright flowers.
One large red one at the bottom, the one her aunt had seen, and a scattering of smaller pink and yellow flowers along the vine. Her plain mark was quite pretty now.
Oh, happy day!
The change in Lydia’s mark was all anyone could talk about at the Gardiners’ house.
No one had ever heard of such a thing occurring.
Mr. Gardiner was so intrigued he asked his acquaintances about it, but they had never heard of it either.
Mr. Bennet sent off a flurry of letters to his Oxford friends and eagerly awaited their replies.
Lydia did not particularly care why her mark had changed, but she had a sneaking suspicion that she knew what had done it. Since the last time she had checked the mark and the day the flowers were noticed, only one thing had changed.
She had begun spending time with her father.
Perhaps it was the result of being around a man more often.
Or perhaps her father’s love for her had made the flowers blossom, just like she had blossomed under his constant attention.
It was a little too poetic for her to believe, but strange things were afoot and nothing could be discounted.
Personally, she had a more likely culprit: it was the change in her that had done it.
She had been moody and difficult, even surly at times.
She had refused to work on her needlepoint because it bored her.
She had refused Kitty’s help with riding because she could not stand being so much worse at something than her sister.
She had resisted Jane’s offers to help with her drawing and Lizzy’s with her music.
She had pouted and felt sorry for herself because she did not have a beautiful mark and because her soulmate had not been marked first. She had taken it as a personal affront and let it color her attitude in unflattering ways.
She listened to the adults discussing the phenomenon with one ear. She would test her theory, and then they would know.
As soon as she returned to Longbourn, Lydia asked Jane to draw her mark. Jane was the best with a pencil and watercolors out of all of them, and she made a good rendition. Lydia wrote the date in the corner and set about her plan.
She began with Jane as she was the most approachable of her sisters. Jane agreed to help Lydia with her drawing and to gift her with the riding habit she was having replaced as Lydia looked to be growing taller than Elizabeth and Mary now.
She practiced diligently and listened to everything Jane said, and once the riding habit was adjusted to fit her, she approached Kitty.
It was more than a little humbling to ask her former playmate and the sister closest to her in age for instruction, but she had a theory to confirm and she would not be swayed.
Kitty was thrilled to be asked and threw herself into teaching her sister. Much to her surprise, Lydia found that she enjoyed learning to draw and ride. Kitty was a patient teacher and her enthusiasm for the sport infiltrated everyone around her, and her drawing was already showing improvement.
She approached Elizabeth for help with her music, and soon Lydia was playing simple tunes that her sister could sing with. She was a little scared to try her own voice for she thought she had no great talent, but through Elizabeth’s gentle urging, she attempted something simple.
It was soon discovered that Lydia had a haunting alto which rather complimented Jane’s timid soprano and Elizabeth’s fuller mezzo.
Even Kitty joined in the singing while Mary played.
Lydia would never be as good a singer as Elizabeth, who was clearly the most vocally talented of her sisters, but she could be pleasing to the ear.
And who knew? Perhaps her soulmate would prefer a deeper voice.
After a month of improving herself, Lydia went into her room and locked the door.
She peeled off her gown and petticoats, then unlaced her stays and pulled her chemise over her head.
Nude before the mirror, she turned to her side and lifted her arm.
Her eyes were closed tight in a mixture of dread and anticipation, Jane’s drawing of her mark in her hand for comparison.
Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and looked in the mirror. She gasped.
Her mark was nearly unrecognizable. Where five small flowers and a larger red one had been, there were now dozens.
Tiny little flowers in pink and purple and yellow, large exotic flowers in a deep pink, bright red flowers with petals she had never seen.
All along her ribs and spreading onto her stomach was a tropical garden.
And there, along the leaf of a full pink flower, in clear dark lettering, was the name Frederick.
She did the only thing she could in that moment. She laughed.